Victoria

My husband, Cleve, built a world-class research center for me. He was my knight in shining armor, the man who saved me after my family went bankrupt. But when my brother died tragically under my care, my husband didn't comfort me. Instead, he began grooming a replacement-a young protégé named Ivanna, funding her transformation until she became a younger, softer version of me. He gave her my jewelry and the keys to our private lake house. He publicly undermined my life's work at the center he built, calling my proven methods "old paradigms." He told our friends I was unstable, that my grief was making me "aggressive." The final blow came when he stumbled into my room, drunk and desperate. He tried to kiss me, to reclaim me, but the name he whispered was hers. "Ivanna." When she appeared in the doorway, he didn't hesitate. He took her side, looked at me with cold disgust, and threw me out of my own home. Lying in a hotel room, sick with a fever born from a long walk in the cold rain, I finally understood. My life had been a lie. He hadn't just replaced me; he had tried to erase me. But my escape wasn't just about survival. It was about the evidence I found before I left-a receipt showing that the drug that killed my brother was paid for by Ivanna, using Cleve's corporate credit card. I didn't just run away. I left him to discover he'd been protecting a murderer.

I was arranging lilies for my engagement party when the hospital called. A dog bite, they said. My fiancé, Salvatore Moretti, was supposed to be in Chicago on business. But he answered my frantic call from a ski slope in Aspen, with the sound of my best friend, Sofia, laughing in the background. He told me not to worry, that my mother’s injury was just a scratch. But when I got to the hospital, I learned it was Sofia’s unvaccinated Doberman that had attacked my diabetic mother. I texted Sal that her kidneys were failing, that they might have to amputate. His only reply: “Sofia is hysterical. She feels terrible. Calm her down for me, okay?” Hours later, Sofia posted a photo of Sal kissing her on a ski lift. The next call I got was from the doctor, telling me my mother’s heart had stopped. She died alone, while the man who swore to protect me was on a romantic vacation with the woman whose dog killed her. The rage inside me wasn't hot; it turned into a block of ice. I didn't drive back to the penthouse he gave me. I went to my mother’s empty house and made a call I hadn't made in fifteen years. To my estranged father, a man whose name was a ghost story in Salvatore’s world: Don Matteo Costello. “I’m coming home,” I told him. My vendetta wouldn’t be one of blood. It would be one of erasure. I would dismantle my life here and disappear so completely, it would be as if I had never existed.

Five years ago, Bettina Rowe was wounded in her abdomen to save Asher Lambert, which caused her not to get pregnant. Asher had told her that he would never want a baby. But he eventually entertained the idea of surrogacy. He chose Betsy Sugden, a college student who resembled Bettina, to give birth to his baby. Asher didn't know that Bettina had already decided to divorce him when he brought up that idea.

Ten days before my wedding, I learned my fiancé-the man who swore to heal my abandonment issues-was cheating for a "final taste of freedom." His betrayal cost me our unborn child, and then he had the audacity to beg me to give my blood to save his mistress's life. He expected to see me walking down the aisle, but I planned a different kind of show: a wedding gift that would be his public execution.

My husband stood me up on the biggest night of my career—my first solo art exhibition. I found him on the news, shielding another woman from a storm of cameras while the entire gallery watched my world collapse. His text was a final, cold slap in the face: "Kacie needs me. You'll be fine." For years, he'd called my art a "hobby," forgetting it was the foundation of his billion-dollar company. He had made me invisible. So I called my lawyer with a plan to use his arrogance against him. "Make the divorce papers look like a boring IP release form," I told her. "He'll sign anything to get me out of his office."

For my entire life, I believed my Alpha, Kaelen, was my fated mate. A sacred gift from the Moon Goddess. But on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, he presented another she-wolf, Seraphina, as his chosen Luna, using a borrowed pup in a cruel plot to crush my spirit. When Rogues attacked our pack, a silver chandelier fell towards us. Kaelen lunged past me without a glance, shielding Seraphina with his own body while I was left to be crushed. He never even looked back. Later, after falsely accusing me of hurting her, he dragged my injured body to an ice-cold hydrotherapy pool and shoved me under the water. As I struggled to breathe, he loomed over me, his voice a roar of command. "If you ever touch her again, I will strip you of your name and make you Rogue." Watching the man I loved try to kill me, the last of my hope finally turned to ash. That night, I accepted an offer to join the Silverwood Pack. Then, I walked to the forge and tossed every memento he'd ever given me into the flames, watching the girl who loved him burn away forever.

My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child. Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby. To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner. They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his. The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused. But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.

When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god. Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires. He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family. In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet. Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it. That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed. I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property. After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash. So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good. A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy.

The day my husband, a Mafia Underboss, told me I was genetically unfit to carry his heir, he brought home my replacement—a surrogate with my eyes and a working womb. He called her a "vessel" but paraded her as his mistress, abandoning me while I bled on the floor at a party to protect her and planning their secret future in the villa he once promised me. But in our world, wives don't just walk away—they disappear, and I decided to orchestrate my own vanishing act, leaving him to the ruin he so carefully built for himself.

For ten years I planned our dream wedding-over and over-while my CEO fiancé Kody Morgan found ways to miss every single one. Ever since Tonya Buckley, his childhood sweetheart, returned to the country, my wedding had become a ticking time bomb. She caused a scene on the eve of my wedding, and Kody always stood me up. This last time, Tonya cut her finger, and a few drops of blood spilled dramatically. Kody anxiously ran red lights, risking everything to rush her to the ER, insisting the doctor check her carefully. Meanwhile, I faced the guests' derisive stares and received only Kody's dismissive excuse. "Does it have to be today? We've canceled the wedding so many times already, let's reschedule for next weekend. Tonya passes out at the sight of blood, so I need to stay with her. I really hope you understand." He reminisces about their childhood bond, granting Tonya every request, while neglecting me. Actually, I didn't have to marry him. When his absence became a pattern, I chose a man who'd actually appear.

While I was pregnant, my husband held a party downstairs for another woman's son. Through a hidden mental link, I overheard my husband, Don Dante Rossi, tell his consigliere he was going to publicly reject me tomorrow. He planned to make his mistress, Serena, his new mate. An act forbidden by ancient law while I carried his heir. Later, Serena cornered me, her smile venomous. When Dante appeared, she shrieked, clawing her own arm and blaming me for the attack. Dante didn’t even look at me. He snarled a command that froze my body and stole my voice, ordering me from his sight as he cradled her. He moved her and her son into our master suite. I was demoted to the guest room at the end of the hall. Passing her open door, I saw him rocking her baby, humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me. I heard him promise her, “Soon, my love. I’ll sever the bond and give you the life you deserve.” The love I felt for him, the power I’d hidden for four years to protect his fragile ego, all turned to ice. He thought I was a weak, powerless wife he could discard. He was about to find out that the woman he betrayed was Alessia De Luca, princess of the most powerful family on the continent. And I was finally going home.